The recent cold snap in hell is nothing like the full freeze that took place there when The Eagles decided to bury the hatchet and regrouped to play together again. And yet it still seemed like an unseasonably cool forecast for the underworld when it was announced that Jay Farrar would be reuniting with his band mates in Son Volt, the much revered Americana/roots band he had dismantled for a solo career seven years ago.

To be fair, the initial word of Son Volt's return might not have set off hell's Doppler because it didn't seem to qualify as a full scale reunion.

The original plan was for the long-distant members of Son Volt to reconvene last spring in order to record a cover of Alejandro Escovedo's "Sometimes" for the "Por Vida" tribute album, organized as a benefit to help defray Escovedo's mounting medical bills in the wake of his Hepatitis C diagnosis two years ago.

"We got along well, and the song turned out fine," says Farrar from his St. Louis studio. "It was great to do it for a friend."

But once the Escovedo session was wrapped, Farrar couldn't help but notice that the band had crackled with the intensity of the old days, and he began to consider the possibility of actually reviving Son Volt to play the new songs he'd been writing for what eventually became the new Son Volt album, "Okemah and the Melody of Riot," out in mid-July on Sony Legacy.

Farrar's most recent output had seemed to him to be better suited to an electric presentation, a far cry from the acoustic atmosphere he had constructed on his post-Son Volt solo work (2001's "Sebastopol" and 2003's "Terroir Blues" and to a lesser extent the "Thirdshiftgrottoslack" EP and the live "Stone Steel and Bright Lights").

His latest solo work had found him working in a band setting once again, with his opening act Canyon serving as his backing band during his sets. In the back of his mind, he saw the reunification of Son Volt as the best way to present his new songs.

"I knew I wanted to get back to the band situation, and that meant Son Volt," says Farrar.

"Most of the songs were written over a six to eight month period before we went in and recorded them. A couple of the songs were a little older. 'Medication' originally was kind of a straightforward rock song, and 'Endless War' was from the 'Terroir Blues' period where I was separating the uptempo stuff from the down stuff."

Given Farrar's long association with bands that seemed to end badly - first the legendary Uncle Tupelo with Jeff Tweedy, then the widely praised Son Volt - his seven-year stretch in solo acoustic territory seemed to be a direction he would be following for awhile.

But, as Farrar is quick to note, he never really broke up Son Volt officially, and he'd always utilized an acoustic guitar in every band he'd been in, so he wasn't the least bit surprised when the idea of reforming his last band cropped up.

"Certainly the acoustic guitar lends itself well to a solo situation, and I'm glad I did that for four or five years," says Farrar. "I felt that it was a challenge that I wanted to take on, and I'm glad that I did that. I'd grown up playing music in a band context and doing the solo acoustic thing I think allowed me to grow into what I do the proper way."

According to Farrar, the rest of the band seemed anxious to get back together and rekindle the old spark, especially after the success of the two-day session that yielded Escovedo's "Sometimes."

But on the eve of realizing the band's plan to hit the studio and record once again as Son Volt, the whole thing dissolved.

Although reports have been sketchy, and Farrar himself is reticent to get too deep into the details of the situation, it is known that the other three original Son Volt members - multi-instrumentalist Dave Boquist, bassist Jim Boquist and drummer Mike Heidorn - retained a lawyer and agreed in principle to the reunion, which was then announced.

On the day they were all to begin work on the new album last September, Farrar was apparently blindsided by new demands made through the band's lawyer.

"It came right down to the wire, and the actual first day of preproduction is when it fell apart," says Farrar. "It was something that I really wanted to see happen, and it felt like I tried for months to make it happen. Everyone agreed to it. Everyone showed up. The thing that was disheartening was that there was no willingness on their part to come by and work through it. I was at the studio, ready to go and telling them, 'Come on, let's just play music and work through this, we'll figure something out.' But they chose to not show up. "

When asked what exactly brought the whole episode to an end, Farrar remains vague.

"It's too convoluted to go into, but you can imagine there are always some sticking points," he says. "From my perspective, it's nothing that could not have been worked out. The thing that was once again disheartening is that they didn't bring these points up months ago. They waited until after it was announced that the reunion was happening and then waited until the first day of being in the studio to bring it up. It was unfortunate, but we moved on."

Did he ever. Within days of the crushing disappointment of Son Volt's short-circuited reunion, Farrar put together a shoestring band - Tift Merritt/Ryan Adams guitarist Brad Rice, Alejandro Escovedo/Jon Dee Graham bassist Andrew Duplantis and former Canyon drummer Dave Bryson - and took them into the studio to record the electrically charged new album.

Farrar had worked extensively with Bryson when Canyon served as opener/backing band for him in 2003, and Duplantis had actually opened for Son Volt back in 1997; Rice represented "a little bit of the unknown element."

With no rehearsal time, the just-add songs version of Son Volt coalesced cosmically around Farrar's gripping new tracks, almost spontaneously creating a potent roots/rock soundtrack that will be equally compelling to fans of the original Son Volt and to fans of Neil Young and Crazy Horse.

"It feels good to have done it," says Farrar of the new album. "For me, it represents getting back with a band, in general and everything that goes with that. It is nice, especially the way we worked, which was more organic and trying to capture things live as much as possible and keeping overdubs to a minimum. There's an element of spontaneity and camaraderie that makes the recording process a fun thing to do. We didn't know what to expect. We were all surprised that it worked."

Although Farrar admits that the songs on Okemah could have been arranged to fit into his solo format, he notes that they were different enough in his own mind to warrant framing them with the Son Volt reunion.

"I suppose they could have been, but they would have been presented a much different way if they'd wound up on a solo record," he says. "I felt that Son Volt was the proper place for them to go. Some of the songs were a little more melodic and uptempo than some of the stuff I'd been writing, and it just sort of reflects a different period in my life. Especially during the 'Terroir Blues' period, when my father was succumbing to cancer and passing away, I didn't really feel like rocking out. That's why that album sounds the way it does."

In that context, there is a certain joyful abandon in Okemah's songs that reflects Farrar's relatively more upbeat viewpoint these days. He's become a father twice over the past six years, his solo career was personally and creatively satisfying, and he is in the process of revisiting a band that earned him a great deal of acclaim and adoration during its run.

At the same time, Farrar is addressing a number of weighty political issues on "Okemah and the Melody of Riot," as he turns a cynical eye toward the Bush administration and the military morass in Iraq.

The album's title is a nod to Woody Guthrie's hometown of Okemah, Okla., and Farrar name checks the political folkie directly in the lyrics of the album's opening track, the incendiary rocker "Bandages and Scars:" "The words of Woody Guthrie ringing in my head."

"The reference in 'Bandages and Scars' relates directly to both my kids, who seem drawn to Woody's music," says Farrar. "Woody's always been a reference point for me as well as a source of inspiration. Especially when there's times of political turmoil, which has been going on for the past year in this country, Woody is someone I turn to for guidance."

Elsewhere on Okemah, Farrar offers up songs like "Jet Pilot" and "Endless War," with lyrics that speak to the world's current agitations but which are presented in such a way that the songs become cautionary metaphors rather than literal anti-war screeds.

"I'm reluctant to write in ways that could be considered strident or hitting people over the head," says Farrar. "I try not to be over the top."

That restraint in the face of chaos has defined nearly the whole of Farrar's musical career, from his eclectic work with Uncle Tupelo in the '80s to his Son Volt output in the '90s to his gently incisive solo catalog. You can even detect a hint of it in the title of the new album: the melody of riot, the harmonious structure of the former counterpointed with the cacophonous tumult of the latter.

"It probably reflects a more internal riot," says Farrar. "That's almost the definition of rock and roll in a nutshell, isn't it?"

After a well-received showcase for an overflow crowd at Stubbs in Austin at this year's SXSW and sporadic dates since then, Son Volt will tour this fall.

Farrar insists that this is no one-off reunion novelty, but a true return to the band life, although it's still not a permanent structure; Rice was already committed to Merritt, so guitarist Chris Frame will tour in his stead.

And even as Son Volt exists now as a real entity in an admitted state of flux, Farrar admits that his solo career similarly shimmers in the distance.

"I hope that they can keep running simultaneously," says Farrar of his dual careers. "I definitely hope that Son Volt will continue on, and if there's time, I would hope to continue doing solo projects as well as other side projects. I have done one that I finished up the week before the Son Volt was recorded. We had studio time booked (for Son Volt), and Anders Parker was in town to play keyboards on the recor. So, we just decided to record a record. It's kind of a folk record, where we reworked some standards, rewriting lyrics, in some cases rewriting melody to traditional lyrics. We don't know what to call it yet, but that may come out sometime next year."

Throughout Jay Farrar's musical career, it seems as though he's been trying to get out of his own shadow. He helped to inadvertently start a revolution of sorts with the twisted traditionalism of Uncle Tupelo, which then led to outsized expectations for Son Volt, which ultimately increased the scrutiny on his solo work. And now, with a new version of Son Volt supplanting the old, he's once again standing in the fire as fans and critics alike line up to compare whatever Farrar is doing to what he's already done.

"That's pretty much to be expected," says a bemused Farrar. "The way I look at it, it's my job to concentrate on creating stuff and after I'm done, it's out of my hands."